Laid Bare
by handful of sky
Summary: Modern medicine can't heal all wounds, and neither can time.  Castle helps Beckett accept what can't be changed.


Disclaimer: The characters are not mine.

Originally written for a fanfiction challenge for BloodWrites Fanfiction E-Zine (the prompts for the challenge were blue, cypress, and heat). Spoilers for 3x24, "Knockout".

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><p><strong>Laid Bare<strong>

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Easy enough under most circumstances, but, then again, most people don't have muscles that are atrophied from a lengthy stay in the hospital or new, fragile skin that stings whenever the warm water touches it. She looks at her razor and wonders if it's worth the effort, but she's saved from having to decide by the sound of the doorbell.

"Coming," she shouts as she wrings what water she can out of her hair, steps out of the tub, and wraps her robe around herself. Her dad was planning on picking her up and taking her to physical therapy, but he must be running early.

As it turns out, it's not her dad. It's Castle. She's not surprised. She's only been out of the hospital for a couple of weeks, and he's still hovering—calling, texting, bringing over expensive meals that she forces herself to eat just so that she doesn't have to see the hangdog expression on his face when she doesn't. For once, though, he's not carrying takeout bags or flowers. Excited enough so that he doesn't even wait for an invitation, he steps into her apartment, pulls a glossy pamphlet from his breast pocket, and presses it into her hands. He bounces nervously on the balls of his feet, and she feels tired just looking at him.

"What do you think?" he asks. "Alexis and my mother wanted to go someplace exotic before school starts. I thought we could maybe make it a foursome."

"Oh, Castle, I appreciate the offer, but there's no possible way…" She looks at the brochure, really _looks_ at it, and, in spite of herself, begins to consider the possibilities. Cyprus. The Mediterranean. Of course Castle would think nothing of running halfway across the world on such short notice.

He hurries to assuage her doubts. "I checked with your doctors, and they said it would be okay, medically speaking, as long as you keep up with your P.T. There's a clinic near the hotel that would be happy to accommodate that. Your physical therapist even said swimming would be good for you, right? So what sounds better, a pool at the Y or white sand and blue surf?"

She skims the tip of her index finger lightly over a photo of a tree-lined beach. "Do they have cypress trees in Cyprus?"

He shrugs. "One way to find out."

"Wikipedia?" she asks, purposely baiting him.

"Two ways," he amends softly. "I know which one I'd prefer."

She looks over the brochure carefully. It _is_ beautiful. She'll give him that. The beautiful, sunny beaches are occupied by beautiful, smiling people sporting beautiful, even tans. _Dammit_. She hands the brochure back to him and tries to turn away, but he's having none of it.

Castle takes her arm gently. "What's wrong?"

"It's stupid." She frees herself from his grasp.

"I refuse to believe that. What gives?"

She takes her lower lip between her teeth and pinches it lightly while she thinks. This is a man who practically lived in her hospital room for a couple of weeks. He inadvertently walked in on more than one dressing change, but he was quick to walk out again and she doesn't really know how aware he is of the extent of her injuries. It's as good a time as any to find out.

Kate pulls the left side of her robe open enough for him to get a good, long look at the shiny pink scar that begins at her sternum and runs downward along her ribcage. She hasn't gotten a close look at the exit wound on her back yet, and she doesn't really care to. "I'm not sure how I feel about showing this off. I'm not usually one to dwell on what people think, Castle, but—"

His eyes seize hers. "Can I tell you what _I_ think?"

"Yeah."

He glances down and reaches out tentatively before looking at her questioningly. She nods her consent, and he touches the scar on her side gently before slowly tracing the line upward with his fingertip. She manages to suppress a flinch as he hits a ticklish spot, but she can't control the flush that spreads across her chest as he follows the entire length of the scar before resting his palm lightly just over her heart.

"I think—" There's a catch in his voice and naked heat in his eyes, and he stops for a moment before continuing. "I think that, no matter what you wear, anyone who sees you will begin to believe in the old legends about Aphrodite rising from the sea at Cyprus."

He drops his hand back to his side and she misses its warmth as she pulls her robe back together again and ties it. "Are you implying that there will be men falling at my feet and worshipping me?"

He exhales softly and his blue eyes lose just a little bit of their intensity, but his gaze is still firm and direct. "I can pretty much guarantee it. So tell me how many tickets to book. Three, or four?"

"And if I say three?" she asks.

"Then Alexis, Ashley, and my mother will have a lovely time. I begged you to stay with me, Kate. You did. I'm not leaving you. Not until you tell me to."

It's the first time either of them has mentioned what transpired in the first few seconds after she was shot. The other words stay unspoken, and maybe it's better that way. She can keep them close, use them to comfort herself when she needs them, and share them when she's ready.

His eyes light up as she smiles, "I get the window."

fin


End file.
